


dream a dream of you (a dream I'm kissing you)

by Authumnder



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authumnder/pseuds/Authumnder
Summary: Jack has a dream boy and he wants that boy to be fucking gone.
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 140





	dream a dream of you (a dream I'm kissing you)

**Author's Note:**

> sabres lost to tbl in the global series and to cope my brain told me to just write mceichel because. mceichel. i started writing this at 5am so like sorry for the suckiness,,, can't believe i finally get to contribute to the mceichel tag ;;;; thanks so much for clicking on this work!

“He gave me flowers last night after he fucked me. Flowers. Fucking—who does that?” Jack asks, his head hidden in the mountain of textbooks he doesn't even have the power to look at. The cafeteria is almost empty this morning, save from the two of them and also Jack's 15 centimeters tall textbooks, which is good, because at least he won't be getting weird and judgmental looks from other students for his becoming-routine morning freak-outs.

“Your dream boy, apparently.” Noah says, easily, like Jack isn't having a mental breakdown in front of him. Jack would bet real money that he's hungover, even though it's Tuesday, but like, Noah actually has a social life, and Jack's messed up enough that he won't judge him for it.

“Arghhh.” He ends up moaning, with genuine feelings.

So, like, this is Jack’s life now. He would go to sleep, anytime and anywhere, and he'd get these almost absurd, unrealistic dreams in which he's... having an intimate, romantic relationship with a guy who's, like, perfect and sweet and smart and understanding—which wouldn't be a problem at all, wouldn't be something he complains to Noah about every fucking morning, if they weren't also impossible as hell and like, kind of mean, now that he's thinking about it, because Jack might actually want that, so badly, and whatever deity's created his dreams is a jerk for dangling that in front of Jack without it being something that's attainable in reality.

There's also the fact that Jack doesn’t exactly have time for this. Look, college is fucking exhausting, he can barely breathe under the avalanche of assignments and papers and that’s not including hockey time—because hockey time is important and like, the reason he’s alive today so, _super important_—and if these dreams are giving him any indication, is that Jack’s fucking lonely and apparently he yearns to get into a relationship with someone; and not just platonic one at that, too, as made clear by the regular fucking he’s gotten in the dreams, which. His point is—yes, he does have one—he doesn’t have the time for relationships, doesn’t have time to be caring for another living human being when he can barely feed himself thrice a day, isn’t capable to be pining after some guy or whatever. And this fucking blows.

“Jack,” Noah calls, after a few moments of perfect silence. Or maybe not perfect, considering Jack’s brain used it to have another freak-out. “Jack, Jack,”

“Shut up,” Jack says.

Instead Noah picks one of Jack’s miserable textbooks and whacks him upside the head with it. “Stop acting like a loser and help me flip Stromer off,” he says.

That’s… actually a good idea. If only he doesn’t have to stand upright to do it. “Can I just give the finger and you help me point it at him?” he asks, eyes still closed, which is probably why he jolts so hard when another voice joins them.

“Hey, Jack,” says the voice, then, “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jack also doesn’t need this, but here it is, anyway.

“Hello, McDavid. Fancy meeting you this morning,” Jack drawls, feigning a wide smile that’s actually more a grimace. His mom likes to tell him off for it. Meanwhile McDavid’s replying smile is so genuine it’s almost disgusting. “Why are you already so cheery?”

Stromer rolls his eyes, and he’s got the perfect face to be super annoying when he does, so Jack doesn’t have any problem flipping him off. Noah does as well, because he’s a bro, also like, giving Stromer the finger is like Noah’s hobby or something, definitely one of his favorite activities.

McDavid ignores his jab—as he always does. Makes Jack wonder what kind of bullshit would really rile him up. “Do you mind if we sit here with you?” he asks instead, as if Jack doesn’t spend hours to think up insults to chirp him, still sounding earnest.

Jack wonders why Stromer doesn’t object this—they don’t really get along with each other, and, unlike McDavid, he doesn’t have the misguided idea that being on the same team means they’re all friends or something. He kind of wishes Stromer would.

“I mean,” Jack starts, and doesn’t know where to go from there. “Whatever.”

“Thanks,” McDavid sends him this really… _cute_… smile and sits down. Somehow he manages to not look like a loser hauling fifteen centimeters tall textbooks—like yours truly does—which is annoying. Though annoyed’s probably become Jack’s default feeling when it comes to McDavid. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

No, but I’ve had enough of you, Jack _really_, really wants to say, but the snide seems super unnecessary, considering McDavid’s… _McDavid-ness_.

“Not yet, I’ve still got a thing to do.” He settles on, burying his face in the mountain of textbooks again. When he looks up a short moment later to dig up a pencil, Noah’s giving him this weird suspicious squint Jack doesn’t even _dare_ to stare down.

So maybe Jack ‘forgot’ to mention that his dream boy looks eerily like a real person. Or chose not to. Whatever. Noah totally doesn’t have to know everything, his knowledge of Jack is too much already, no need to give him another ammunition.

* * *

Tonight’s dream goes like this:

It’s raining, and for some reason Jack’s outside without his umbrella, stuck taking shelter under the library’s roof, sopping wet already. Dream Jack doesn’t even worry about his textbooks being ruined—which, what the fuck, thinking about tearing one page off his $250 textbook gives him anxiety, how could he be CALM when his books are most definitely wrecked at that point? Unrealistic. Be better, Dream Deity.

Anyway. He’s stuck there, and the pouring rain doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, so he gets out his phone—also unrealistic. His phone is totally not waterproof—and calls Dream Boy. Then, like, a few minutes later, Dream Boy shows up with an umbrella, smiling at Dream Jack and holding him close under the shade, and they walk into the rainbow—no.

They walk into an apartment they apparently share, Dream Boy making sure to waggle the umbrella first to get rid of the excess water. The apartment is really nice and spacious and clean—does this dream have anything that’s realistic? Jack’s budget definitely couldn’t afford this kind of place—and when Jack steps in it’s warm and smells of coffee and cinnamon, feels like he’s walking into this safe space in which he can act freely and be himself. Dream Boy herds him to their bedroom then, makes him hot chocolate while Dream Jack changes into dry sweats and a t-shirt, smiles at him with this genuine angelic smile as he listens to Jack’s chatters about the suckiness of the day—okay, this part’s actually realistic—and then they fall into bed.

When Jack wakes up the next day, he feels almost empty, and sad, and also really, really lonely.

* * *

Jack has a dream boy and he wants that boy to be fucking gone.

* * *

Apparently Noah can read Jack like a book because when they go out together for lunch he immediately asks, “What’s wrong,” before Jack can even take a seat.

“Um,” Jack says.

Noah squints his eyes. “You’re acting worse. Did your dream boy die?” he asks, which. Jack _wishes_. He’d rather live without the shadow of a perfect relationship with a perfect boy who’s not even fucking _real_.

“No,”

“Then _why_,” Noah says, a finality in his tone of voice, a signal that means he’s going to get it out of Jack no matter what it takes.

Jack would tell him if he could. But how do you explain to someone else that your dreams lately have been really, really surreal and fulfilling in this great way that sometimes you wish they were your reality, not the other way around? He doesn’t know how to make it not sound crazy. He doesn’t even know if it’s not crazy.

“Dream boy’s been good,” he says instead, “it’s real life that’s fucking me up.”

Noah purses his lips and looks dissatistfied with the answer, but he says, “I feel you, bro,”

Jack’s not entirely lying about it, though, probably why Noah believes him. College’s really been hard lately, midterms coming like a hurricane, and maybe Jack’s having it really bad because when McDavid meets him after Econ 101, offering a study session together with another earnest smile he seems to never run out—even with how stressed he must be that he’s asking _Jack_, who’s historically never been good at numbers—Jack’s immediately filled with relief and agrees to it right away.

“Oh, great,” McDavid says, eyes wide, as though he expects some false excuses and rejection from Jack’s side—which, not happening now, McDavid. “The exam is next Tuesday, but we have a lot of materials to go through, so I think we have to meet at least twice? So, uh, how about tomorrow? Uh, Thursday?”

“Now’s also alright,” Jack says, “This is my last class.”

“Oh, this is mine, too,” McDavid says. “Library?”

“Yeah, but we’re getting coffee first. No way in hell I’m going through another hour of this without caffeine.” Jack says.

“Okay, Jack.”

The walk to Jack’s choice of cafe is awkward at best, McDavid silent like his usual self—or at least his usual when he’s with Jack—and Jack is dying for some conversation, anything at all to lessen the heavy coarseness.

“What’s your favorite cake,” Jack blurts out and. Uh, what? What the fuck? He glances at McDavid and he’s surprised as well, eyebrows rising like he also can’t believe Jack’s that lame. Jack is, though. He’s exactly that lame and maybe a tad bit more.

“I like cheesecake,” McDavid replies after a moment passes, Jack spending it by hating himself more and more. “This cafe near my dorm sells it and it’s really good. You should try it sometime.”

Jack snorts. “You called the spaghetti at the cafeteria good, Connor, your tastebud isn’t really credible.”

“That was freshman year!” McDavid argues, but his cheeks are kind of pink and Jack’s not sure if it’s because of the weather or the power it takes him to actually put up a verbal fight. “I didn’t know better then. Besides, the lady’s really nice.”

“And you’d feel bad badmouthing her,” Jack says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” McDavid says. He’s right, and looks like he knows it too.

“Fair enough.” Jack allows. The lady’s actually nice, though, and Jack’d definitely feel bad about badmouthing her but like, her food is an absolute abomination to humanity, so he doesn’t, really.

They get to the cafe eventually, which suddenly throws Jack off-guard because this scene is—_familiar_. It’s not deja-vu whatsoever, but it _is _familiar, and not just because it’s probably Jack’s hundredth time visiting the cafe—it’s more that McDavid’s here, with him, standing in a queue waiting to be served, the actuality and realness of him, and like.

Jack’s maybe always known that he’s not that smart to create his dream boy from scratch, AKA he must be taking inspirations from real life, and he _does _know that Dream Boy’s creepily similar to a particular boy Jack’s not going to name, but with McDavid’s standing behind him, fidgeting lightly like he does sometimes, it suddenly hits Jack that maybe—

Fuck. He’s not getting into this right now. Or ever, if he has the choice. Let it be known that Jack’s a coward who’s too scared to face the reality of his dreams, or like. Whatever. He’s totally not going to overthink. Nope. No, thank you.

* * *

Dream Deity’s fucking with him, Jack’s sure.

Usually in those dreams Dream Boy appears blurry and with no face, or at least not one that’s distinctive, but tonight it’s entirely fucking different because guess who shows up with a fucking face and eyes and hair color? Not Jack, because he’s been doing so since day one.

“You’re kidding me,” he says to Dream Boy after he’s seated. Apparently they’re on a date. Jack’s not sure date number what this one is, he sure as hell not counting, also because, like, in real life, he has exactly none. Zero date. Nil. Nothing.

“Yeah?” Dream Boy looks up, stares at him with questioning eyes. Jack’s not going to put a name on him, nope. No thanks. He’d happily stick with Dream Boy.

Jack contemplates telling him off, exploding like a moron in the middle of this fancy restaurant they’re sitting at—which, another unrealistic detail, dear sucky Dream Deity. Jack probably can’t afford the price of tap water at this place. Or if he could, he wouldn’t want to. He’d rather go to the nearest McDonalds and eat his weight in shitty burgers and french fries instead.

They get to talk, because it’s apparently easy with them, conversing about stuff that doesn’t really matter and some that does, laughing here and there. Jack usually doesn’t remember the things they’re talking about the next day—because _dreams_—but he tries his best to record this one, although he’s not sure the attempt is successful by the end of the date.

McDavid kisses him outside the restaurant, the car parked just next to them, chaste at first and then deepening after a moment. They part when oxygen is miserably needed, Jack panting a bit and really needing to make another contact, but then apparently it’s goodbye time, Dream Boy turning around, and Jack is attacked by a sudden urge to just _find out_, so he’s yelling, “Is your name Connor? Fucking—just tell me. Does your name start with a C and ends with an R? Please, fuck, tell _me_—”

And then he wakes up. Cold, has trouble breathing, and sweating like mad.

* * *

Apparently Jack crushes on Connor fucking McDavid so fucking hard that he’s brought the guy to his dream and clone him to be this, like, older and sweeter version of him that’s absolutely in love with Jack.

(Sshh, pretend to be surprised here, please, for the sake of Jack’s pride.)

* * *

Connor McDavid’s really great with numbers. He’s apparently memorised the entire textbook as well because he has an answer to every question Jack has. It’s very hot, but also depressing, because Jack’s supposed to be studying, not thirsting. Jack has no chill and he’s forced to admit this because he’s not going to put it past Noah not to barge in and correct him if he doesn’t.

It’s also very very very unfair, Jack thinks, for him to be so boss at fucking everything.

Connor—ooh, it’s Connor now—is explaining marketing things with long words that’s hard to understand and, albeit it sounds kind of sexy coming from Connor’s mouth, Jack’s not going to be able to face exam if he keeps not understanding and getting distracted.

“Hey,” Jack cuts him off, somewhere along the fourth marketing mix or something, “I don’t get it. Can you, like, tell me again, but dumb it down a bit?”

“Oh,” Connor says, always with the earnest expression. “Okay. Should I start over?”

Jack’s glad he’s not mad or annoyed or anything—he means, somewhat he knows Connor won’t, because _Connor McDavid_, but it’s still really nice of him. “Please,” he says, and Connor starts it over.

He absolutely owes it to Connor that he gets out of Econ 101 exam alive and breathing normally and not like, having a panic attack or something, so he waits at the door—he kind of flees the room once he’s done answering all the questions—to ask him on a… uh, an outing… lunch, perhaps…

Jack hasn’t completely settled on what he’s going to say, which is probably reason enough why the first thing he blurts out to Connor when he gets out is, “Go on a date with me?”

Connor’s face is blank. He looks like he’s seconds away from malfunctioning, in fact, and Jack would make fun of the dude if he isn’t on the other end of whatever Connor’s decision is. And like. Jack really hopes he’d say yes.

“Uh,” Connor says. “Sure? Is this a date _date _or just another study date? I mean, we have Intro to Management together—”

“Please don’t bring textbooks to our date, Connor,” Jack cuts, kind of exasperated, but also like, fondly. Because Connor is so fucking cute. “Yes?”

Connor beams—and Jack has to blink twice so he doesn’t get accidentally blinded. “Yes.” he says.

* * *

“Oh my god, please stop coming here,” Jack says the next time he sees Dream Boy in his dream. “Just stay in real life, okay?”

* * *

“Why am I not surprised,” Noah says, right after he sits down in front of Jack and Connor, ruining the silent and comfy atmosphere. “Dream Boy here, right, Jack?”

Jack flips Noah off, and shoots a disgustingly innocent smile Connor’s way when he raises an eyebrow in question.

* * *

“You're killing me.”

“No, you _are_ killing me."

“We're killing each other, then.”

An eye roll. "Jack, we're having sex.”

“Yes, and you're still killing me.”

Another eye roll. "How close are you already?”

“Like, a blink away from spilling,”

“I wanna suck you off, though,”

“_Fuck._”

“I guess later, then?”

“Fuck. Shut up, Connor.”

A laugh. “Okay. I'm close, though.”

“Hm-hmm.”

“Jack!”

“What? I'm allowed to suck my boyfriend's dick!”

Moments later:

“You said _your boyfriend_,”

“What, are you not?”

“I guess I am, then.”

“Go to sleep, McDavid.”

“Okay. Night, Jack.”

“Night, Connor.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading, hope that wasn't super bad! kudos and comments would be super appreciated :3 also I have a [Tumblr](http://sideswiped.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk!


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